The essence of all beautiful art, all great art, is gratitude.
Precisely the least, the softest, lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a flash, a moment - a little makes the way of the best happiness.
A man who possesses genius is insufferable unless he also possesses at least two other things: gratitude and cleanliness.
A man of genius is unbearable, unless he possesses at least two things besides: gratitude and purity.
There are slavish souls who carry their appreciation for favors done them so far that they strangle themselves with the rope of gratitude.
Indeed, at hearing the news that 'the old god is dead', we philosophers and 'free spirits' feel illuminated by a new dawn; our heart overflows with gratitude, amazement, forebodings, expectation - finally the horizon seems clear again, even if not bright; finally our ships may set out again, set out to face any danger; every daring of the lover of knowledge is allowed again; the sea, our sea, lies open again; maybe there has never been such an 'open sea'.
When the gratitude that many owe to one discards all modesty, then there is fame.
He who bestows something great receives no gratitude; for in accepting it the recipient has already been weighed down too much.
A refined soul is distressed to know that someone owes it thanks; a crude soul, to know that it owes someone thanks.
When the gratitude of many to one throws away all shame, we behold fame.
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